Lethal Balance: Sons of the Survivalist: 2 Page 5

  “I’m Jayden Jenner, and I have an appointment with Chief MacNair.”

  The woman’s gaze sparked with interest, although she merely said, “Of course. If you’ll go through those doors to the police station, I’ll let the chief know you’re here.” She pointed to the door to JJ’s left.

  RESCUE POLICE DEPARTMENT.

  “Thank you.” As JJ walked through the door, her heart rate increased. Maybe, maybe, she could escape the degrading atmosphere of the Weiler police station. Please, let that happen.

  She glanced around. The police station’s portion of the building wasn’t huge, but more than adequate for tiny Rescue. The lobby door opened into a bullpen with a center conference table and several smaller desks against the walls. The far wall held offices.

  A man emerged from the Chief of Police’s office. Solidly muscular. Six-one. Rough-hewn and clean-shaven. Short brown hair. Dark blue eyes.

  “Officer Jenner. I’m Chief MacNair.” He held his hand out.

  As she shook hands with him, noting his grip was strong without being overpowering, her hopes rose. He’d called her officer, as he would with any male applicant, acknowledging she was a professional. His gaze held no leer, but a nonsexual assessment of her build and whether she was capable of doing the job.

  He motioned to the office behind him. “Let’s talk.”

  As he settled behind the desk, she took the chair in front.

  The interview was straightforward and his questions similar to those she’d answered upon getting hired in Weiler. Experience, strengths, weaknesses.

  “Did you have any questions about the information I sent—the salary, benefits, and cost of living in Alaska?” Chief MacNair had a good smile, one she bet was very effective at gaining civilian cooperation.

  “No. It was all clear.” She smiled back, hoping he was done with questions.

  No such luck.

  “I’d be interested to know what drew you to law enforcement.” He pushed the notepad away and leaned back in his chair.

  “My father was a patrol officer and loved the job. I’d planned to follow in his footsteps.”

  She was going to leave it at that, but the chief frowned. “Planned. You changed your mind at some point?”

  So much for avoiding her past. Not that it was a secret, but still… “He died when I was twelve. We were managing to make ends meet”—barely—“but when I was sixteen, my mom had a stroke. She needed me. Attending the police academy was out of the question, let alone taking a job with irregular and long hours.”

  “I see. You’re an officer now. Did she get better?”

  “No.” The loss was still an aching hole in her heart. She could feel her shoulders curve inward with sorrow. “When I was twenty, she was walking home and got hit by a car. She died.”

  His gaze held sympathy. “I’m sorry. That couldn’t have been easy for you.”

  It’d been devastating. “I was heading home too, and I saw the lights, saw her.” Pain swept over her, and she pulled in a breath. “With the first responders were two police officers. The male was”—an asshole—“callous. Indifferent. The female officer made sure I was going to be all right, even as she processed the scene. Instant role model. I wanted to be the kind of person she was.”

  “Ah. Thank you. That’s what I wanted to know.” The chief studied her. “Now let’s talk about why you want to change locations.”

  Dread rose inside her, and she shifted in the chair in a tell as loud as a shout.

  His eyes narrowed.

  Oh damn. MacNair might not have a problem hiring a woman, but he wasn’t any pushover when it came to whom he wanted to hire. “Although my first years with the Weiler police force were challenging, they were also rewarding. I felt as if I was contributing to the community and was valued for my skills.”

  He held up a finger. “What skills are those?”

  “I’m good at problem-solving. In fact, I was working toward detective status. I’m an excellent negotiator, can defuse a lot of ugly situations. People seem to like me.” At least the ones who could see past the end of their dicks. “Children trust me. I’m a skilled interviewer.”

  He nodded, face unreadable. “Very good. But now you’re leaving Weiler? Why?”

  Her muscles went tight again. “I’m ready for a new challenge. For—”

  “For a station where you won’t be harassed for being female?” he asked mildly.

  He knew. Her stomach twisted, but she didn’t move. “Ah…”

  “You’re the only female officer in that precinct. It appears you’ve been having some problems.” He tapped a finger on the folder. “A friend of mine is skilled at research, including checking social media.”

  Nash—and later, just about everyone—had trashed her on Facebook. Posting things implying she was the slut of the department. Going after married men, after guys with girlfriends. Fucking her way to the top. And, more recently, there’d been accusations of her being aggressive and out of control.

  The chief moved her resume to one side. “How many fights did you start?”

  “None.”

  At his level look, she sighed. “My opinion is if someone grabs my breasts or ass, then they started the fight. I finished three.”

  His eyebrow quirked up. “Does finished mean you won?”

  “Yes, sir. I did.” She’d spent the year after her mother’s death getting stronger and learning to fight and shoot. She hadn’t eased up in the years since the academy.

  “Good for you.” He rested his forearms on the desktop. “Officer, I don’t judge performance by gender. However, the Alaskan population can be sexist. In fact, we have a white religious fundamentalist militia group outside town.”

  She sat back, a whole inch, and stared at him. He was serious. A militia group? Her shoulders slumped. Dammit, she was tired of being judged by her gender first and her abilities second. But, she’d liked the looks of the town, liked—

  Shouting came from the street. “You fucking city boy, get your stinkass back to the—”

  Chief MacNair glanced out the window overlooking the street. “Hell.” He rose. “Excuse me. I’ll be back shortly.”

  He was gone before she could respond.

  The shouting increased. Sounded like several people were yelling at City Boy.

  No, this wouldn’t do. The chief against a bunch of people?

  A chill ran through her. If she got the job, there’d still be only two of them, which meant she’d be without anyone to back her up most of the time.

  Nonetheless, she was here now. Shoving her satchel under the desk, she yanked off her jacket, tossed it on the chair, and ran out to the street. The lack of her firearm on her belt nagged at her.

  Once on the street, she frowned.

  Ignoring Chief MacNair’s order to step back, five men were shoving and punching a skinny, just-past-twenty, clean-shaven young man. The bullies were all bearded, and she labeled them according to hair color or style. Ginger Top, Stringy, Sandy, Buzzer, Brownie.

  Five to one? Assholes. Anger flooded her system.

  Scowling, the chief punched Sandy, dropping him onto his ass. The chief dodged Ginger Top’s swing, then delivered a couple of hard blows to the man’s gut. After that, Ginger Top was too busy puking his guts out to have any fight left.

  JJ nodded approval. The chief had some serious skills.

  He stepped in front of the buzz cut one and, with a hard sternum shove, knocked him away from the city boy. Regaining his balance, Buzzer charged MacNair.

  Unfortunately, Stringy and Brownie headed in to join the fight.

  No, I don’t think so. Pulse speeding, JJ stepped in front of them. She set her hands on her hips. “Back off, or you’ll be hauled in on charges.” Not that she was legal in this state, but still.

  “The fuck you say, bitch,” Stringy snapped. “Get the hell out of the way.”

  When she didn’t move, he tried to slap her. Talk about insult.

  She blocked and slamm
ed her fist into his beer belly. The nice thing about being small was that her fist actually hurt her opponent more than a bigger hand would. His breath whuffed out. As he swung a big hand at her head, she did a quick foot sweep and took his legs out from under him.

  His head hit the pavement—and he was out of the fight.

  Never stopping, she sidestepped Brownie’s punch, slid closer, and slammed her knuckles into his low back—his kidney.

  Even as he made a gut-wrenching sound, Sandy charged her.

  She dodged his rush and kicked Brownie in the ass, sending him headfirst into pile of sidewalk construction. She spun to face Sandy.

  He yelled something that sounded profane, but was so angry he garbled the words.

  Dropping low, she avoided his fist, straightened, and delivered a one-two punch to his gut and chin. There was a noise to her right.

  Something slammed into her head. As her skull exploded in pain, her knees buckled, and the world went hazy.

  “Fuck.” That was the chief’s growl, and then a man let out a high scream.

  Brownie landed on the concrete beside a car, a 2 by 4 falling from his hand. He was out cold.

  Eyes blurry, she heard a yell, sounds of fists. She tried to push to her feet and failed.

  Sandy grabbed the 2 by 4 and charged the chief. JJ kicked her leg out, and the bastard tripped, landing on top of Brownie, his head hitting the side of the car. He went limp.

  That was that.

  JJ blinked, realizing something warm was running down her face. She swiped at it. Was it raining? Her hand came back covered in blood. Her blood. The side of her head pounded as if she’d gotten hit with a hefty piece of wood.

  Oh, right. She had.

  “Whoa, Chief. Need help there?”

  “Dante. A hand would be helpful.” The chief rolled Brownie over, handcuffed him, and did the same with Sandy. “Can you babysit the assholes while I take the officer in to the clinic?”

  “You got it, Gabe.” The man had a twangy drawl that brightened as he said, “Officer, huh? You finally got us another cop?”

  MacNair squatted down beside JJ. “You’re bleeding, Officer. Let’s get that looked at.”

  Everything was going in and out of focus. When he lifted her to her feet, her balance tilted as if she was standing in a canoe rather than on hard ground, and he slung an arm around her waist.

  “Sorry, sorry.” She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. The world went dark…and she almost panicked until she realized they were inside the building. The lobby.

  “Oh, hell, Gabe. That’s not the way to conduct an interview.” The scolding voice was familiar. The receptionist.

  The Chief chuckled. “My bad. Is the Doc in?”

  “Yep. Go on in.”

  MacNair steered her to the right and through a door.

  “Doc, got a patient for you.” The chief’s loud voice echoed in the room. Somewhere a child was crying. A couple of people were talking. “She got thumped by a 2 by 4 and is pretty woozy.”

  “I’m fine.” She tried to draw herself up.

  “Nope, you’re not.” The chief sounded more amused than upset.

  “Put her in room two, ’mano.” The Spanish-accented voice was smooth, warmly masculine, and all too familiar.

  No. This couldn’t be happening.

  Her knees buckled, and the chief’s grip tightened. “Room two. Only a few more steps, Officer.”

  A murmur of voices came from another room. “Bring Niko back in ten days, and I’ll take the stitches out. Remember what I told you about watching for infection.”

  “Will do. Thanks, Doc.”

  “Here, Officer.” The chief took her into a small exam room and helped her up onto the table.

  The man she’d met the previous night entered the room. Saw her. Stopped.

  JJ put her hand up to her aching head and felt the warmth of blood. Her gaze went double, back to single.

  Cazador. It really was him. He wore black jeans, black sneakers, and a white lab coat over a black T-shirt. Maybe she was concussed, but he was still the most intimidatingly handsome man she’d ever seen.

  “Ay, pobrecita,” he murmured. Warm fingers under her chin, he tilted her head up. “Officer, hmm?”

  “Um…” Whatever she’d planned to say faded from her thoughts under the impact of his dark, dark eyes.

  “Let’s get that bleeding stopped.” After gloving up, the doc used gauze to put enough pressure on the wound that she squeaked.

  “Sorry.” He held her head firmly, not easing up. As she inhaled, she could smell his aftershave—the green of vetiver and lime. Like last night. A good memory of companionship. Along with a touch of embarrassment.

  She tried to shake her head, but he didn’t let her move.

  “Stay still—”

  “Her name’s Jayden. Jayden Jenner,” the chief said. “Officer Jenner, this is Caz or Cazador or Doc.”

  “Officer Jenner,” Cazador murmured politely.

  “If you’re stitching me up, I’d just as soon you call me JJ.”

  Laughter lit Cazador’s eyes. “JJ.” He took the gauze off and eyed her wound. “Bleeding is stopped.” He glanced at the chief. “What was she doing intercepting a 2 by 4?”

  “Street fight. Five of the Patriot Zealots were picking on a tourist.” The chief huffed a laugh. “Oddest end to an interview I’ve experienced.”

  “She’s here to interview, and you pulled her into a fight?” The doctor opened a sterile dressing pack on the rolling stand before shooting the chief a disapproving stare. “In medical interviews, we ask questions, look at resumes. We don’t slap a scalpel into their hands before they’re hired and say have at it. What the hell, Gabe?”

  “She stepped in on her own to back me up—and she took out two and a half of them on her own. She’s almost as fast as you are.” The chief’s voice warmed. “Nice job, Officer.”

  “Except for getting caught out by the 2 by 4,” she grumbled.

  “Live and learn. You’ll guard your six more carefully next time,” the chief said.

  Next time? Did he—

  “Look up at me, JJ.” The nasty penlight flashed in her eyes as the doctor asked the standard questions to see if she was concussed. If she had any allergies. Any other pain.

  It was a bit comforting that she’d met him last night. And it was rather awkward, too.

  “Let’s get you lying flat. I don’t want you swaying while I attack you with a needle.” Hand behind her shoulders, Cazador laid her back on the exam table.

  “Doctor.” As her head spun, she pushed his hand away and tried to sit back up. “No needles.”

  “Yes, needles. Foreheads have too much tension for gluing.” His hand closed on her shoulder and held her still. “And it’s Caz or Cazador, please. I’m a nurse practitioner, not a doctor.”

  “People call you Doc.”

  When he leaned over her with a tiny needle and she tried to turn away, she got a tsking sound and a firm, “Lie still, Officer Jenner.” When she gave up, he continued, “A number of people have felt the need to call me doc, including the pendejo here.”

  Pendejo. Had he just called the chief an asshole?

  MacNair chuckled. “You stuck me with the chief title. I get to call you Doc.”

  Cazador snorted, then warned her, “Tiny stick.”

  She closed her eyes and tensed. But he was good at his craft. There was only a small sting, then another and another.

  “Done with numbing. You did very well.” His deep, velvety soft voice compelled trust.

  As shouting and cursing drifted in from the street, the chief grunted. “I need to deal with those idiots. Can you keep her here until she’s back on her feet, Caz?”

  The doc’s dark eyes looked into hers. “It would be my pleasure.”

  JJ would have rolled her eyes if her head hadn’t ached so badly. “Yeah, you just love having to babysit woozy officers, I’m sure.”

  The doc smiled at h
er. “We can argue about the impact of anti-super-heroes on the next generation while you’re here.”

  The lure was more compelling than being offered a candy bar.

  “Officer Jenner.” The chief pulled her attention away. “That was a nice job of backup.”

  A compliment. How awesome was that?

  “The position’s yours, if you want it.”

  She stared. Closed her mouth. She could work here in this small town, a place that obviously needed her. One that might welcome her. The man on the street, Dante, had sounded happy that the chief might hire her. She could fit in here. Have a community to serve and a place to belong. Longing swelled within her.

  Remembering the chief’s compliment, she was sold. She could work with this man, Chief MacNair, and learn from him, too. “I’ll take it.”

  “Excellent. Take some time and recover while I stuff those idiots into our token jail cell.”

  “Token?”

  “Yeah, it’s a reinforced room to stash miscreants until the state troopers take them off my hands. We don’t have the staff to deal with housing anyone long term. The troopers also take dispatch calls when we’re off duty. Rescue can’t afford 24/7 police staffing.”

  “Oh. That makes sense.”

  The Chief smiled. “Come back to the station when Caz lets you go, and we’ll start on the paperwork.”

  He wasn’t treating her like a fragile bunny that needed to be sent home and pampered. Yes, this would work out. “Will do, Chief.”

  “Make it Gabe.”

  As he left the room, the doc made a disapproving sound under his breath. His brows were drawn together.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You haven’t even started, and you’re already bleeding.”

  She scowled. “Would you say that to a man?”

  “Men aren’t…” He said something under his breath, an exasperated sound. “Forgive me, you’re right. I was out of line.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll hose the blood off before I visit your clinic. Next time.” Next time—because she had a job. Despite her aching head, her lips curved.

  He made a grumbling, unhappy sound and then simply stitched her up.

  A job. Her thoughts drifted to a vision of walking into the Weiler police station and slapping down her resignation. But…lovely as the thought was, she really should think a bit more about this decision. Be rational.